Antidotes to a Consumer Society

Month: August 2019

Saturday night and not feeling the going out thing much? Then slip your slippiest slippers on and scare the pants off yourself with this Korean horror, one of my personal horror favourites. Curl up and enjoy scares, and some funny moments too, in this great movie, which I dredged up from the internet for you, in all its beastly glory. It’s sure to surprise and delight you, and to make you spill your popcorn all over your couch as well.
First, the trailer, so you can prepare yourself for the show.

Settled in nicely in the dark of your living-room? OK then, brace yourself, and click the image to start the full movie, or the link under it. Not as frightfully expensive as a Saturday night at the movies, and even more fun than walking home in the dark.

On Wednesdays, after a hard morning’s shopping for wine, I like to wind down and uncork a good movie. Seeing as how I was thinking about the Truth Community, and how they like to hold people hostage to their silly scripts, I thought immediately of one of the great movies by Sidney Lumet, Dog Day Afternoon, while I lay around, like a dog in the sun, basking in the glow of the organic wine I’d purchaced. But first, some thoughts on the Community of liars, whose plans to keep me hostage went so wrong.

Ah, wining bigly against the liars that want to keep me hostage. Now, lets kick back, and enjoy a classic movie, in the peace of a Dog Day Afternoon. Here’s the trailer, before the matinee starts.

The script is easier to follow than anything Truthers can come up with. Mind you, truth is often stranger than any fiction scriptwriters, such as those concocted in The Truth Community of the YouTube studios, and the movie was based on a true story, with sensational elements that will make you say Whaaat? Click on the image, or the link below, to be brought to the free matinee. Should liven up your midweek, with a little drama, nicely.

In the Truther Community of YouTube, folks can be touchy. This guy, although he likes to think of himself as the sensitive, touchy feely type, who just likes to “reach out” to other people, is mostly just touchy about his own favourite topic, alchemy.

What the heck is that, you may say? Well, it’s a medieval fascination, which passed for science in its time (Dark Ages, as they call them now, followed by the great explosion of innovation and re-discovery of architectural triumph and art of the classical world, and a good synthesis of old and new led to better results than messin’ about in dingy basements ever had). Outmoded, bad ideas tend to hang around for a while afterwards, like the funny smell from the stove top, when you’ve had fried fish for dinner. Now, while nobody’s stupid enough to think you can turn lead into gold with any profit accruing from the mess stuck to you when you try (wash your hands VERY carefully after messin’ about with that one!), the occult has become trendy among a lot of folks, who regard themselves as alchemists, and like to look at the pictures in old books online, that have pictures of people kissing the devil’s behind, and muckin’ about with Mason Jars, and so forth, in them. Now this guy, below, didn’t like the idea of being asked about another modern-day alchemist, a certain Mr. Crowley (AKA Baphomet), by me, when I popped by ask about his beliefs, and a self-triggering alchemy ensued. As I say, touchy. Maybe all that mercury goes to the brain.

I can’t say the livestream got any friendlier after the question was asked, but I did discover that it’s fine to be a Mason (not the jar type, presumably), but not so hot to be asked things about Crowley, the Mason.

Not sure why; maybe it’s some mystical reason I just haven’t the mind for, as I didn’t appear to be self-triggering, like our alchemical friend. Anyhow, on it went. It had been a 5 hour livestream, which would have given me the vapors, had I endured the whole thing, but the last hour or so seemed to revolve around the question I’d asked. Or just around me, since my question wasn’t appreciated, it seems, by anyone, not his pal “The Dude” in the chat, nor by the rest of those in chat, who seemed to know a lot about the magic scripts that were written about me, cooked up in the Truther-Tube kitchens. They should. They wrote them.

Now, I didn’t manage to find a man to help me understand what he was trying to say (not in there!), in answer to how he managed to cook up so many alchemical scripts, without reading Crowley, but I did learn that I was an “evil bΨtch” for asking. The chat section, from which I was magik-ed away, agreed, and it was Khaos in there, with prescriptions for me being made up, and old formulas flying about, while I was trying to figure out whether this was their idea of a joke, or whether the mention of Crowley might be summoning up something darker, and far dank and dirty, with the fumes they must have inhaled in their experiments in the basement of YouTube. It was “Do as thou wilt” time in chat, and everyone was doing their evil bestest to wilt me, with the power of their mindlessnesss, and a few incantations. Oh, the beasts! Every rumour going around this small circle of jerks emerged from the odoriferous chat, as the pals worked together like a herd of goats chewing a ouija board, trying to make someone the butt of their accusations, as had been seen in many another channel they had “reached out” to, that like to mix things up, and shuffle truth with lies.

Good grief, the little demons had fun in chat, as Bob the insect man become more venomous, not to mention verminous, in his self-triggered rant, rather different to the impression he wishes to convey when he’s off with the birds, in Twitter. It’s all love and hearts there, with the demons kept in check, and pinned down, while they escape out of the Tubes, with a vengeance.

Who’s Tafoyovsky? His pal, Lestat, the Mexican vampire, who accused me on HIS livestream of paying a guy they don’t like (featured in chat, above, in an impersonation account, as Th Stg, to seduce me, although in Bob’s chat they said it was the other way around, and that he paid me. I wonder at times if Lestat is jealous, and wants the man to himself, as he likes vamping up pictures of him, dressing him up in women’s clothing.

Lestat’s clearly inhaling the fumes, too

The Virgin Mary, to be precise. I don’t think that’s necessarily a vampire thing, but I do know it’s a Crowley fans kind of thing. Reversal, and mockery, and all that, like the mockery of the Christian rituals they’re so hot on. Not that I would know a lot about these things, not being a Satanist myself. Now, theeeriousthly (as Truth Con would say), who’s going to believe that; as if such a gorgeous creature as myself would have to pay for such services. Are they blind seers, that they can’t see my lovely avatar, or do they just like old goats and oujia boards? Where do they get this nonsense from? Why the lady many call “The Tooth”, of course, who is the go to oracle for all sorts of visions and dreams to conjure with, and plenty of spit and venom to put in the Tube. And 100 percent reliable, apparently. Yeah, right.

Can’t follow what they’re talking about, still? Don’t worry, it just means you aren’t as stoned as them. Or not into alchemy with reality. To continue (and they did)…..

At least he admitted that he was being a “total asshÓle. Ole, as Lestat might say. The admissions got thicker as the humors were still on him, and I learned a lot about how the bug thinks. He blabbed that he was just talking jibberish about the gang thing he’d been pushing, because he could say anything he wanted. He was right, because the video stayed up, despite my reporting it to YouTube. You can pretty much say anything and everything you want about someone on the Tube, and they’ll do nothing about it, when you complain to them. However, he wasn’t exactly apologizing for the lies, no. He was saying he was enjoying them greatly. It’s fun, the ol’ do as thou wilt thing, after all.

After long diversion from the question of whether he’d read Crowley, that I’d asked, he eventually came to the real answer. The answer to why he’d been telling such awful stories about me, and hanging out with others in the dungeons, who were. He wanted rid of me, off YouTube and Twitter. Aha. Perhaps he wasn’t very lucid in his thinking, saying it, but he was, for once, being honest. All this, to get rid of someone who he just didn’t like, because he saw them talking to someone he doesn’t like. No, Bobs. I’m afraid I do what I like too, I just don’t think anything goes, with no boundaries, and no respect, like you.

Bonus: If you’re interested in giving these absolute charmers more views, the whole 5 hours of fumed out nonsense is here. Viewer discretion is advised, but insanity might be more helpful, if you intend to watch the whole thing. If you just want to watch them berate me, here’sthe last hour.

Anyone who reads my blog regularly will already be pretty familiar with this lady, who runs an endless Con she sells as the Truth. She’s kept on truckin’ for over a year now, and the narrative has taken some twists along the way, with anyone who tries to use the other lane getting side-swiped or just plain run over by her inventive fictions and colourful language, all geared towards adding her perceived enemies to the story of the international stalker gang that’s pursuing her for her secrets (told nightly in detail) about the conspiratorial workings of paint factories, unions and cults of all types. Oh, and murder plots.

Hello World. You are all in a death cult!

Lately, she’s garnered a new fanbase, made up of those who love stories, and wish to borrow some for their own ends, and others, who just like a laugh, and a drug free trip with the steamroller Convoy. Lately, she’s taken to Twitter to follow the fun, as others who joined the con convoy, hoping for a free ride on the tailgate of the lies, are tweeting away like mad, about stuff she really cares about. Emails. Yeah. Doesn’t sound exciting, does it? Some, though, like Denise, have an obsession with discovering who owns a particular address on the interwebs. One that she wouldn’t block, as you or I would, when we don’t want to write back.

It’s not a game, folks. These people aren’t really pretending to be mad. They actually are; it’s a Truth Community thing. You just wouldn’t get it, unless you’d lived it, but lemmie explain how this Bedlam ward of YouTube is run. It runs on lies, and if you aren’t a liar, the inmates get very worked up indeed, and you will find them turning on you, in droves. Or should I say, convoys. Maybe I’m the crazy one in a mad, mad world, because I keep telling the truth, even when nobody in the asylum will listen, even though I don’t have the word Truth emblazoned across my channel name, in an effort to convince people that I haven’t just been turning the truth on its head, to steamroller people into wanting to get off the Tube, so I can tell tall tales to the other inmates. I’ve been assigned to the back office, where I take notes on the patients, and make sure the drugs are locked up (though a few channels seem to have managed to forge the keys, as the opiates levels are constantly dwindling).

It’s a solitary life, but I don’t mind it. Once the patients are (b)locked up in their own wards, they aren’t any serious danger to anyone else, and they scrawl happily on their walls, with only the odd mumble heard down the corridor. My filing cabinet is stuffed though, and I find I must re-organize. Perhaps you could lend a hand, seeing as how you dropped in, or just put the kettle on, while I’m clearing up. Nice cuppa tea makes the medicine go down, I hear. Or is it sugar? You won’t find much sugar in the tweets I’ve got to go through, but you’ll spit your tea out, laughing. Here we go then (opens the cabinet of horrors labelled Corsi Emails).

Now, this is inmate No. 23’s favourite cabinet. Denise is obsessed with the “Corsi Email” in which she was cc-ed, months and months ago. She used to fancy Jerome Corsi somethin’ rotten, after Roy Potter lost his place on her pinup wall of her cell. Now she decided that the Jack Quin that signed the Email simply must be this Jack Quinn, based on a Google search of the name (spelling close enough, right?). And he is silver haired and attractive, and most of all, “impor-an'”, as she likes to say, in her best Boston/Texas crossover accent, Everything’s impor-an’ in Denise’s mind, and everything involves the gang that’s been stalking her, for oh, forever.
We have lots more files in the cabinet, ‘cos she toted the Email around all the cells on the ward, to get the other inmates involved. Several have now got the same obsession, and are tweeting all around the corridors, about the sender, whose identity changes constantly. Sometimes s/he’s a guy called Brian, sometimes Jack, sometimes Tom, sometimes he’s even on Twitter, disguised as a vet, serving as the alter-ego of one of the inmates who believes that you can be more than one person at a time.

The Twitter profile of fake Jack, hmmm, wonder who came up with that tall tale?

Sometimes you have to humour the inmates, so when I’m not in the office, de-cluttering the cabinets I play along, nodding and smiling to all and sundry. They can get quite ratty if you don’t pretend that this is the normal world, after all. When this one, who just won’t take her calming meds, insists that an Australian vet is a858, I don’t point out that that’s actually her cell number, I just say, yes dear, and walk her back to her bunk, or if it’s not lock-up time, the recreational lounge, where she can mingle, and gossip with her friends. I leave it to the porters to break up fights, and go back to the office, locking the door behind me, in case they try to break in, to get at the opiates again.
Sometimes they play word games, or argue about pi (OCD patients in particular), but always the story told about the darn Email address changes. One minute it’s here, one minute there. It’s him. No it’s her. Honestly, these people could argue about anything, or nothing at all. They don’t seem to want to settle on a version; I suppose the days are long, and you have to pass them somehow, but they will keep sneaking into to the nurses’ lounge when they’re fagged out from a hard day herding nuts, and accessing the computer to send secret messages out to their Email fixations. The target of their fixation got so fed up with the endless stream of fruit and nut mails, that they replied with a missive that added even more confusion to the already confused recipients.

Does Bye bye mean more?

Now, just as misery loves company, this inmate had some friends, like the guy that identifies as a vampire, playing along with the tale, until the Email fecked it up for them, and sent them into a spin. I’m afraid I got a little short too, as they’d been at the medicine cabinet at midnight again, and I wasn’t happy to have to get a new key cut for the third time that week. I enjoyed the tweets they’d posted up so much, I teased them gently, about all their stories, and nodded away for all I was worth. Nod, and smile. Yes, dear. Back to your cell, now. Yes. I know.

An Australian vet that does puzzles, and is a composer too, living in America, that might be a transgender person, and that person you were talking to on Twitter’s just a liar. OK then. You know? How? Oh, I see, your vampire friend googled a858 and something about pi puzzles came up, right after the Lenovo phone result. And Denise says he’s in a murder gang, and is called Brian as well as Thomas and Jack with two nns. And Pi has a lot of numbers in it, sooooo……(rolls eyes, feeling headache coming on. How I resist the lure of the medicine cabinet myself, I don’t know).

Just smile and nod. Time to go home soon.

Confused? Yeah, you will be, after emerging from a day at the office, here. And there’s no telling these people; they don’t want the truth. It’s not as interesting to them as the tall tales.

Time to scan the online ads, and see if there’s an easier way to earn a living. Oh, cripes! They’ve been at my computer too. Now I’ll have to change the locks on my office again, for the 4th blinkin’ time this WEEK!